


worth the fight

by ghosthunter



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: Apparently, scoring a big contract sometimes makes people more interested in what you dooffthe ice as well.





	worth the fight

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to liv for the beta. this was inspired by this kinkmeme prompt but alas, it got... away from that. whatever, i had a bad day, let me write something purely self-indulgent here. thank you for your time.

It's not a very good picture.

It's a picture, sure, but it's blurry and grainy and if they really wanted to be assholes and push it, they could try and convince people that it's not even him at all. It's a lie, because as bad as the photo is - the series of photos, four of them, all of them terrible and shot on what looks like a camera phone from a early-aughts Nokia - it's pretty clearly him. He's the one facing toward the camera.

It’s him standing there between cars under parking lot lights. Him that's visible kissing someone - a very definitely male someone. Clearly, he expected to attract no notice. It's just bad luck, really.

"We can always pretend it's not you." Zhenya's been sitting with the public relations manager for hours now, hashing out options. She keeps coming back to this one. It's a nice idea - it's also an obvious lie. It makes him uncomfortable, and he doesn't particularly think it will work. He scratches his chin and looks at his agent.

"It's your choice," his agent tells him, in Russian. "They're going to want to know who he is, though."

"It's not their business," Zhenya snaps back, then takes a deep breath, and shakes his head by way of apology. He doesn't mean to be shitty about it, he just doesn't want to deal with this. "Tell them they can think what they want. He's not on the team, anyway. It doesn't affect anything. Not how I play, not anyone here."

 

 

The truth is, they were fighting. They'd gone to dinner, they'd had an argument, and both of them were trying not to walk away mad. It was a terrible kiss to get on film. It's even worse that now it's going to out one or both of them. Anyone Zhenya is with now that even vaguely fits the description of the guy he was kissing - about Zhenya's height, dark hair - is going to fall under scrutiny. Unfortunately, about half the people Zhenya knows fit this description.

It doesn't affect anything with the team - they've known for years, since Zhenya first came to the states, since all of this sort of fell into place. It wasn’t something that was ever kept from the team, and they've been good about things, honestly. It was never a big deal, only mild chirping when finally, finally they admitted they were dating - beyond just hooking up on roadies or on off days. Really dating. Committed, even. Serious.

But Marcus got traded, anyway - and in some ways it seemed like it was Zhenya's fault. That was what their fight was about, that it was Zhenya's fault, that he'd used the KHL for too much leverage, got more than the team could afford ("not more than you're worth, for fuck's sake I didn't fucking say that"), and caused the Capitals to dump Marcus's contract.

Dinner was tense, they were trying to talk it out.

Zhenya's decision to admit that it's him, tell the media it's none of their business, and move on with his life makes things even more tense.

 

 

 

Marcus's living room is full of boxes. He's nowhere to be seen when Zhenya lets himself in after yet another meeting with PR. It's crunch time for Marcus now, because the movers will be there in three days and half the house is still unpacked. Zhenya finds Marcus in the kitchen, layering plates into a box.

Zhenya walks over and picks up one of the flat boxes without a word, folding it into shape, then waits in silence for a moment, until it’s clear that Marcus isn’t going to say anything.

"No one know it's you," Zhenya finally says. He listens to the way Marcus breathes in, putting the last plate down into the box, then watches Marcus straighten up and reach out to take the box from Zhenya before Zhenya hears him exhale.

"It's just," Marcus says after a long moment, staring down at the floor, or the boxes, or something - anything but looking at Zhenya. "This is hard enough."

They've had the conversation about where their relationship goes when Marcus leaves D.C. They've had the conversation multiple times - over the phone, via text, in person. Their relationship, as a rule, is pretty low-key. Their circumstance makes it complicated to begin with, and now Marcus getting traded and Zhenya getting outed makes it even more complicated. Zhenya doesn't say it’s impossible, because he doesn't believe in that. Marcus doesn't say it’s impossible, either, but Zhenya thinks maybe he means it when he says things like "too complicated," and "too exhausting."

Saying things like that is what started the first fight, before the pictures ever hit the internet. It's funny, because this is not by any stretch the first time Zhenya has kissed Marcus in that exact same parking lot, and yet. _And yet._ For whatever reason, maybe now he's more interesting to people because he's making Really A Lot Of Money, but it's suddenly really unfortunate and very inconvenient. Couldn't they have waited until the next season, when something that was already hard to deal with would maybe, potentially, be less hard because it wasn’t new and the pain wasn’t fresh.

They're not breaking up. Not yet, anyway, because it's not like they haven't done long distance before, every summer, since they started seeing each other, once Zhenya came to Washington. It'll be different, when they're not together for most of nine months out of the year. It will be harder, when they only see each other six times over the season unless one of them wants to make the drive. It's only four hours - so what is it to drive it on an off day to see each other?

"Is only back of head," Zhenya says quietly. "No one know if you don't say."

"Do you want to?" Marcus puts the empty box down on the floor, then leans back against the counter. "Do you want me to do this with you?"

Zhenya shakes his head abruptly. "Not with new team. What if they not... okay?"

Marcus shrugs. "A lot of people aren’t going to be okay with this."

"But not own team," Zhenya says. "Is worse when own team. Why you do that when you don't have to?"

Marcus is shaking his head. "Because I love you," he says. "Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not idiot," Zhenya tells him. "Am... practical."

"You're taking this all yourself because you want to make it easy for me," Marcus says. "But you don't have to."

"Want to," Zhenya says. He steps over the box on the floor at their feet, pinning Marcus back against the counter. "Can't help you score goals anymore, have to help you other ways."

"Yeah, well, don't hurt yourself just to help me," Marcus says.

"Already hurt anyway," Zhenya says, and he's almost smiling. Almost. Not quite. Marcus smiles back, sad, and raises his arms up to rest across Zhenya's shoulders. "So I make it hurt you less. Please. Let me."

Marcus nods, and leans his head against Zhenya's. "Tell me," he says. "If it's too much. Promise."

"Of course," Zhenya says. "Promise."

 

 

 

Preseason is fine. Actually, preseason is great, because they play the Devils twice in the span of something like ten days, and they win both, and even though it makes Marcus a little salty, they still have dinner after the second game. And by dinner, Marcus actually ends up in one of their regular bars with Zhenya and half the rest of the Capitals, and it's not romantic at all.

"Please make them stop," Marcus is saying. Since they're in DC, and the Devils have lost, Marcus is on the hook for buying rounds, even though it took both Ovi and Nicke to bully him into coming out with them in the first place. He's also pretty drunk. "Zhenya."

Zhenya laughs and finishes his own drink, and Marcus wraps an arm around his waist and lets his head rest against Zhenya's shoulder. Zhenya knows that Marcus is done, absolutely done. "You out of practice," Zhenya tells him. Marcus makes a dismissive noise. He can hold his alcohol with the best of them, but they've abused him tonight.

It’s the bar they always go to after games, if they’re going out, and Zhenya doesn't think twice before pushing at him, making Marcus straighten up before leaning in and kissing him. It's such a commonplace thing for them to do in front of the team - what used to be _their_ team - that it only garners them one wolf whistle, and probably only then because there's tongue. This team is tight. This team knows them, doesn't care.

But it's not just their team, their private room, their regular bar. Too many people watch Zhenya too much now., Letting himself slip into old habits that he needs to shake because things are different now is only going to make things worse.

 

 

 

This time, there's no mistaking who the other man in the pictures with Zhenya is. They're much clearer - new phone technology is a wonder - and even in the dim light of the bar and the press of bodies around them, Marcus is unmistakable. He's all drunk rosy cheeks and distinctive facial hair and Zhenya's tongue in his mouth.

In short, they're fucked.

"So much for trying to make it easier," Marcus says. He's got Zhenya on speakerphone as he putters around his kitchen in New Jersey, 200 miles of distance between Marcus’s kitchen and Zhenya’s bedroom.

"I didn't mean - " Zhenya starts, but stops when something crashes in the background on Marcus's end of the call and Marcus starts swearing. Zhenya's Swedish is worse than his English, but he knows plenty of curse words. And endearments. This is definitely curse words. "What happened?"

"I knocked a glass off of the counter," Marcus says, his voice farther away from the speaker now. "But also, I know you didn't mean to cause this, and I never thought that."

"Still," Zhenya says.

"So it's not any easier, and you couldn't protect me the way you wanted to," Marcus says. "And either we deal with it or we break up."

"You want to?" Zhenya asks. His chest feels tight with the thought.

"Absolutely not," Marcus says, his voice faint now. Zhenya hears a series of muffled bumps and thumps before he hears the brief burst of the vacuum running.

Zhenya waits, listening to Marcus banging around on the other end of the line. It makes his chest hurt in a different way, not the sad fear that Marcus might want to break up because of all of this, but the ache of wishing that he and Marcus were in the kitchen together, being domestic.

Finally, Marcus says, "sorry. The glass broke." His voice is clearer.

"Figured," Zhenya says.

"Are you upset. You know, that you can't .... " Marcus trails off, but Zhenya knows what he's going for. Zhenya can't go back to Russia, not now. Maybe not ever. This is a choice that he's made for himself, pursuing this relationship, and he always knew that it could happen.

"Da," he says, his voice quiet. "But is okay."

"Are you going to do the You Can Play stuff? They asked you to, right?" Marcus asks. Water runs in the background.

"I think together," Zhenya says. "They get lot of ... story out of us on different teams now."

"I don't want to," Marcus says. Doing the hockey superstar thing is not Marcus, not in the slightest. It could be Zhenya, but it hasn't been before. He'd never be a superstar, not on the same team as Sasha. While he wouldn't mind it, he doesn't want the bullshit that comes with it. Neither of them wants a camera in their faces anytime they do something.

"I don't either," Zhenya says. "But I'm do it."

"Together?" Marcus asks.

"Da," Zhenya says.

 

 

 

Even if being the first out player in the NHL has turned Zhenya into a relative superstar, it's not pleasant, and he's got the bruises to prove it. Turns out, not everyone is as okay with Zhenya's sexuality as the Capitals happen to be. It's not everyone in the league, true, but there are certainly plenty of guys who have no problem slamming Zhenya off the boards and calling him a fag when they do it.

They play Pittsburgh before a road trip that includes New Jersey and Philadelphia, so by the time they get to New Jersey on Thursday evening, Zhenya is exhausted both physically and emotionally, and the Capitals have a back-to-back in the next two nights.

Tonight, though, he has a meeting with You Can Play, and at least Marcus will be there with him. There's a photographer hovering, camera in hand, and Marcus looks at Zhenya and raises an eyebrow. This is why they work. Not just because they clicked together from the start, pieces falling into place, but because even if they don't share a native language, they understand each other. For instance, right now, the look Marcus is giving him is saying that he wants to flee the building, steal a car, and drive off into the wilderness, never to return.

Part of that might be Zhenya projecting.

Between You Can Play and their respective team PR, the plan is for cameras to follow them around - not for video, but photo - for at least the next 24 hours. It's good PR, they say. Maybe. Hopefully. Both teams want to appear more inclusive, and a few pictures of the league’s first out, gay couple won't hurt anyone. The photographer will irritate the shit out of Marcus, and Zhenya will get smeared into the boards a few more times, but nobody's going to get _hurt_. Well, nobody's going to die, at least.

Zhenya and Marcus end up getting dinner together afterward. The photographer is mostly unobtrusive, but it makes things a little stilted and awkward. Even though Marcus lives in New Jersey now, he trails Zhenya back to the hotel the Capitals are at after instead of Zhenya going back to Marcus’s new place, because it's easier than Zhenya trying to get back to the hotel in the morning to meet for team breakfast before morning skate.

The photographer starts to follow them into the elevator up to Zhenya's room, but Marcus stops him. "Please," he says. He’s asking as nicely as he can for the guy not to follow this, not to document this. To let them have peace at the eye of this storm, for just a little while.

The picture of them standing together in the elevator as the doors close is cute, at least.

 

 

Marcus stays in town after the Capitals play the Devils before the New Year, waking up late and lazy the morning after the game snuggled down in bed next to Zhenya. Now that everyone knows they’re together, it’s easy to get up and go to brunch in the late morning, holding hands and lingering over coffee. It’s different, now, because where their brunch dates would be filled with comfortable silence, but now it’s more talking, about games, about how they’re playing.

It’s different, but it’s nice. They’ve spent the last three years living in each others’ pockets, and knowing everything that was going on with the other, because they’ve had the same job and lived in the same place. People only glance at them when Zhenya laughs too loud when Marcus makes a joke, but they mostly seem to go unnoticed. Being out might have made them stars in terms of the NHL, but D.C. doesn’t seem to care much about who they are.

Sasha hosts a New Year’s Eve party.

The thing about going to a party at Sasha’s is that everyone is drunk except the dogs. And also that Sasha livestreams straight to Instagram, which means that more than once Zhenya finds himself with his heavy, drunk captain draped over his back, yelling in Russian in his ear and asking him to say things for the camera. Zhenya mostly makes faces and gives non-answers.

Marcus has left him to team up with Nicke to beat Andre and Jakub at table tennis, and, based on the amount of protesting he can hear when he pries himself loose from Sasha, Andre and Jakub are predictably losing. Zhenya’s a little surprised that Andre has allowed himself to get sucked into this hustle, because Marcus and Nicke were the undisputed tag team champions of table tennis before Marcus was traded.

Zhenya kisses Marcus at midnight, each of them with a beer in hand, Marcus’s arms snaked around Zhenya’s waist and his body pulled close, both of them smiling more than they’re kissing.

Later, Marcus holds his phone out to take a photo of the two of them together, smiling, Zhenya pressing his lips against Marcus’s cheek. Marcus posts it on his Instagram and captions it “Happy New Year.”

Neither of them read the comments, but the photo gets a lot of likes.

 

 

The Devils don’t make the playoffs, which… surprises no one, really, but it doesn’t stop Marcus from ignoring all of Zhenya’s texts for three days. It’s not personal, Zhenya knows. Marcus is ignoring everyone’s texts, not just Zhenya’s. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt Zhenya’s feelings, anyway.

Zhenya doesn't expect to see Marcus again before Marcus leaves for Sweden, so it’s surprising when his phone buzzes with a text just before warm-ups on the day of game one, and a photo - Marcus, posing with the Caps’ Better Halves, wearing a Kuznetsov t-shirt.

It makes Zhenya feel like he could win the cup single-handedly. Sure, the rest of the guys are chirping him (and Marcus, too, to be fair) with in an inch of his life, but that doesn’t matter.

They’ve come a long way since the beginning of the season.

 

 

Someone texts Marcus a screenshot of the article, because Zhenya’s phone has been turned off since they left for vacation. Even then, it’s hours before Marcus even notices he has a message, because why would he be looking at his phone when he could be stretched out on a towel in the sand, doing absolutely nothing, and especially not looking at his phone.

He drops his phone right in the sand when he sees what the snap says. He snatches his phone back up and blows stray sand off of it, saying, “holy fuck.”

Zhenya doesn’t open his eyes and when he asks “What,” it comes out in Russian, but Marcus has learned enough to know what Zhenya’s said, and besides, context is everything. Marcus jabs Zhenya in the ribs with two fingers until he acts like he’s paying attention and slaps Marcus’s hand away

“We’re not the only ones anymore,” Marcus says, holding out his phone. Zhenya reaches out and takes it, cupping his hand around the screen so that it’s dark enough for him to read.

 

 

> _until the season concluded to make the announcement.  
>  “I didn’t want it to be a distraction from the game,” Crosby says. “I wanted the chance to see how things would go for Kuznetsov and Johansson, how people would handle it. I know things weren’t perfect and it was probably harder for them than it looked, but on the whole it seemed like things went very well. It’s different, for me, because my partner isn’t also in the league, but I still want to stand up for those of us who don’t feel like they can come out. I want everyone to feel safe to be themselves and to play the game_

 

 

“No one give shit about us anymore,” Zhenya says.

“Not after that,” Marcus says. Zhenya laughs, then tosses Marcus’s phone onto the towel beside him and lays back down, closing his eyes. They’re quiet for a while, surrounded by the sounds of the waves and the people on the beach.

“Hey,” Marcus says, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” Zhenya asks. He squints at Marcus through his sunglasses, watching as Marcus smears sunscreen across his own shoulders.

“Do you think you’ll miss it?” Marcus asks. “The attention?” It’s hard for Zhenya to read him like this, with his sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Little,” Zhenya says. “But know it bother you, so okay with it.”

Marcus grins at him, then leans over and wipes a sunscreen covered hand down Zhenya’s chest. Zhenya makes a noise of protest and sits up, while Marcus laughs at him. Zhenya rubs the lotion in.

“You’re gonna end up with a weird sunburn,” Marcus tells him.

“Will be your fault. You rub lotion on it later,” Zhenya says. Marcus snorts, because it sounds suggestive. Good. Zhenya meant it suggestively.

“Sure,” he says, and Zhenya sees his eyebrows rise just barely above the tops of his sunglasses as he wiggles them.

Zhenya grins, leaning back on one arm, watching Marcus. Marcus smiles, leans forward, and kisses him, before tossing the bottle of sunscreen away and stretching back out on his towel.


End file.
